


Right as Rain

by ultimateparadox



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Explicit Language, Family, Gen, Post-Game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:00:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22137469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ultimateparadox/pseuds/ultimateparadox
Summary: Stopping to rest was either the worst or best decision Nero had ever made in his life.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 107





	Right as Rain

With Dante indisposed indefinitely, Devil May Cry had taken on more of a delegation purpose. Morrison, who owned the building, would still receive calls for help, and shoot the dirty work to three hunters that weren’t even technically in his employ. Still, Nero thought as Nico drove carefully through the torrential rain descending on Capulet City, he found he didn’t mind as often after a hard job left him tired and the agency was between him and Fortuna. Pay would be negotiated and a room would be offered for services rendered, and with a bone-deep ache that came from slowly healing after being slammed and impaled to a brick wall, he figured he and Nico deserved a bed to sleep in while the storm passed.

Morrison was also very savvy about who he dealt business with, Nero thought when the man cut his deal. Morrison had to live and keep the business running, so it was fair that he got a share, but he also could take one look at Nero’s exhausted face and raise his offer a little more in Nero’s favor. There would be no extra service but the rooms, but the rooms and his cut were all he needed at the end of the day. After a brief phone call to Kyrie that he had to surrender to Nico halfway through, the partners climbed the stairs and turned in for the night, bidding Morrison a good night as he returned to his own home.

Rain could be troublesome in Fortuna. Sometimes it would shift the snow in the mountains until it was low enough to escape the freezing temperatures and snow melt would flood the streets, where thin ducts had been carved to let it run to the sea. The humidity and rising heat afterward usually affected the elderly and young negatively and progress would slow to a crawl until it died down to a more moderate temperature. In the brick and mortar Devil May Cry building all the way inland, the rushing rain pounding at the windows kept Nero awake with concern for Kyrie and the orphans back home.

Late into the night, a sound broke up the cacophony he had been slowly getting used to. Sleep had been hard fought and he was almost there, but the rumbling of an engine just outside brought his sluggish brain back to sharpness. Like a live wire beneath his skin, he felt the devil in his blood roil and spark as he sensed the approach of some things demonic and incredibly strong.

Sleeping with Blue Rose underneath his pillow was a habit reserved for traveling on the road. The cool metal in his hand was steadying as he slid out of the bed that used to be Dante’s, pulling his sword away from its perch against the wall. He descended the steps with stealth he hadn’t had to use since stealing midnight snacks as a child, gritting his teeth as the presences had not only remained, but had grown closer. Just as he could feel them, he wondered if they could feel a strong devil just inside of the walls.

The clack of the lock opening was like a gunshot. Dread climbed up Nero’s throat; the only person with a key to Devil May Cry was Morrison, and he hoped they hadn’t hurt him. The handle turned and the door swung open unhurried, a shadowy presence stepping in carelessly with steps that cracked on the floorboards. 

“Don’t you fucking move,” Nero growled, pushing demonic power into his bullets, aiming Blue Rose at the shadow. It was more humanoid than he thought, but a phantom pain in his new arm reminded him that sometimes those were the most cunning and lethal of them all. To the shadow’s credit, it did pause. The second shadow took broad steps into the building, heedless of Nero’s orders, and the gun twitched over to it. “Stop before I make you.”

“The welcoming committee you promised leaves something to be desired,” the second shadow mused, voice high and clear and Nero’s stomach sank because he recognized it. 

“Hey, the van’s outside. All I could promise you was him,” replied the first shadow. Nero wanted to cry. He knew that carefree voice, too. “And I’d say he’s doing a pretty bang up job.”

Shadow Two scoffed, ignoring the threat of Nero’s gun and moving towards a light switch on the wall. It clicked up with a snap and lights flickered on.

Soaked like a pair of world-endingly powerful cats, two sons of Sparda stood in the doorway of Devil May Cry. Nero’s arm fell, the gun he’d trusted for years suddenly becoming a burden in his hand. It was a shock not unlike dropping into a frigid river. Quiet, trickling relief eroded a weight he hadn’t noticed from his shoulders. 

Then, he raised his other arm and swung Red Queen at Dante with the force of a truck. Rebellion met it half way (and no, it was not Rebellion, it was a new sword that resonated an essence that felt exactly like Dante himself), but the heels of Dante’s boots cracked the floor from the strike's pressure. “Now that’s the kind of party I was talkin’ about!”

Rage boiled beneath Nero’s skin as he took in the two disheveled rats he had to call his family. “What is your fucking damage? Don’t you have some shit to say to me, you idiots?” He swung again, a swing that would take a normal man’s head off at the neck, but Dante just kicked off the floor and onto the back of a newly upholstered couch. His boots tracked mud and water. Perhaps Morrison wouldn’t rob Nero of his paycheck in the morning when he realized he could take it out on Dante instead.

“You’re still bitchy, huh? Good. Wouldn’t ask you to change for the world, kid.” Dante had the audacity to sound so unbelievably fond. Nero hated him. He was, maybe, glad he was back.

“How ‘bout that?” At the top of the stairs, disturbed from sleep by two many devils on the ground floor, Nico stood, adjusting her glasses on her face like she’d hastily put them on, but suddenly found herself with time to rectify them. 

“Hey, Nico!” cheered Dante, bending into a bow. His balance was perfect and he was perfectly showing off. 

“Nero, your dumbass daddy and uncle are back,” she said to Nero, doing her best to be as unhelpful as possible. “Since nobody’s dyin’, I think, I’m goin’ back to sleep. In the morning, if any of you got some souvenirs from whatever part of hell’s butthole you wandered around in for months, hit me up. It smells like shit down here. Keep it down, you shitheads, some people are trying to sleep and have to drive tomorrow. Dumbassery must run in the family, I swear.”

Sometimes Nero hated the antics that woman put him through. Hearing her retreating footsteps, he noted the sudden decrease in tension in the room and figured she was more insightful than he thought. He let Red Queen’s engine purr once before he backed it up against the lobby’s desk, laying his gun on its surface. 

“The place looks good,” Dante broke the silence. He was craning his neck around to take in his old office. “It looks...clean. Wild.”

“You’re boorish,” Vergil said without heat. “Get off the furniture. It’s not yours anymore.”

That was just the other massive elephant in the room. An enemy of humanity was dripping water onto the floor and looking quite bedraggled, and that enemy of humanity was Nero’s long lost father that had nearly destroyed him. The old memory of blood lingered on his tongue and an echo of Kyrie’s frantic scream of his name bounced around his skull. 

Yet, Dante didn’t seem to mind that he’d brought Vergil straight to him and Nico like it was safe. There was trust there, or maybe it was just trust in himself that he could stop him if Vergil acted out, as if Nero hadn’t put him down before. It was bittersweet, to tie the painful memories to this same individual who shoved Dante from the back of the couch to take a weary seat, eliciting a few tired chuckles. 

He wouldn’t look at Nero.

“I’m starting to think Morrison was good to the place,” Dante continued like he hadn’t been interrupted by his brother. “It was better than Lady and Trish running everything I put together into the ground, I think. At least Morrison knows how to sweep.”

“Do you know how to sweep?” Nero asked, the jab playful and familiar in a way that felt like coming home. 

“That’s a mystery,” he replied with a smirk to his lips and the world, once tilted, felt right.

“Does he?” Nero pointed at Vergil, who looked surprised at being addressed in such an inane conversation.

“I can sweep,” he declared. His tone was firm and face a blank wall, but Dante laughed and he seemed to soften up. 

“Gonna put us to work, kid? Don’t we get even a day to sleep in after literally going to hell?”

Nero shrugged. “Since I dealt with all the mess you left behind, I think I should. Maybe I'll make you eat dirt and then clean it up.” The jab was a little sharper, a thorn digging into flesh; a farewell not quite forgiven.

Silence hung between them all for a few ticks of the clock that was finally repaired. It used to be frozen every time Nero stopped in, but seemingly always at different times, and Dante used to smile at him every time he caught Nero’s gaze on the clock face. “Fair enough,” he acquiesced, rolling his shoulders. “Sorry about that. Wasn’t sure I’d ever be standing here again, to be honest.” The admission was a stark reminder of the way everyone had to fill in the void Dante had carved out of their lives and Nero was really too tired to deal with that personal trauma just yet.

“You’re not getting out of an ass-kicking, either, V,” Nero said decisively while he still had the courage to address Vergil directly. The swampy murk of his feelings about his father made it difficult, and he would have to scrounge for every opportunity he gave himself from now on. “I’m so fucking mad at both of you.”

“Your uncle has told me much the same,” Vergil said to the floor. His shoulders squared and he let his gaze rise to meet Nero’s own. The sentence was purposeful in its casualness. To an outsider it would have been nothing more than its surface-level acceptance. To Nero, it went a little deeper, because it acknowledged that Vergil saw him as his son. The murk grew a little thinner and for some reason it made Nero feel stupid and good.

“And no more fucking demon king bullshit from you, got it, old man?”

“I’m afraid I’ve been outplayed in all my attempts at that,” he agreed without agreeing. 

“Try again,” Nero commanded.

“No more fucking demon king bullshit,” Vergil said flatly, like he had been cussing all his life and hadn’t shocked Dante into stillness.

“Good, great. Get off the couch and go to bed,” he eyed Dante, scratched at the side of his nose. “Your room’s open. Don’t suppose you two can be big boys and share for one night, can you?”

“My bed’s still there?” Dante asked with definite excitement. 

Nero nodded. He didn’t say the decor had been changed by its many guests. He had fully functioning eyes, he would find out when he got up there. Dante clapped him on the shoulder before pulling a scowling Vergil up by the arm. Nero watched them leave for the second floor, feeling like he’d witnessed a pair of ghosts but for the puddles they’d left in their wake. 

There was much to talk about, questions to be answered, and asses to be kicked. Nero relaxed into the firmness of the pleather couch. The rain was louder here, but he felt so drained that it didn’t bother him. It would be gone in the morning, but Dante and Vergil would not be, and so he would deal with that then.


End file.
